Be Gone You Micro Pests!

My sister made me promise that I would post a poem I wrote over the summer on my blog. I was really hesitant to do it until Jennifer admitted fighting the same battle we had. The battle was headlice and for about a month I really thought we would not win. Everyone in the house was checked on a daily basis and sometimes more often.

We really did feel like a bunch of monkeys.



I tend to write poetry when I'm extremely emotional. This pretty much sums up the trauma.


Itchy itchy scratchy scratchy bugs are in my head.
I've washed and picked and picked and washed and still they are not dead.
Crummy, dirty, ooky, angry, this is how I feel.
Pinch me, poke me, hit me, wake me, tell me it's not real.
I can't take it anymore I swear I want to die.
Washing, picking, itching, scratching; all I do is cry.
Get these things out of my head I can't take it anymore.
Itchy, bumpy, swollen red, my head oh my so sore!"

So, if you ever, God forbid, have a bout with these and need some emotional comfort, drop me a line. I'll send you e-mails filled with sympathetic support.